Role Reversal
by Shi-Long Begone
Summary: In which Miles Edgeworth begins writing letters to Phoenix after the death of his father and his relocation to Germany.
1. Frailty

Miles was distracted; his eyes intently studied the grooves lining his right palm, instead of the large and musty textbook laid upon his desk. It would not do, of course, to delay his studies in such a wasteful manner…yet the gunshot—the deafening sound of a life cruelly and prematurely snatched away, the gunshot which haunted his dreams, echoing in his mind as though it would linger there forever—was beginning its rounds once more, and he could not stop its insistence.

The fledgling law student decided he could not change the chaotic state his mind had fallen into and so promptly lifted himself from his regal desk chair and marched stiffly out the gilded door of his study. The excess which surrounded him, the overarching nobility—the ornate rug he walked upon, the pristine chandeliers which lined the high ceilings and provided an abundance of light, the golden crown molding, servants greeting him at every corner and addressing him with utmost respect—it suddenly made him ill. Miles wondered if he would ever find ease in his lifetime; his studies were a distraction, hardly a trouble (his mentor saw to it otherwise, in often cruel ways), though the motive which fueled him led him to furiously peruse every volume in von Karma's endless library which would prove useful to him. Reading, studying, they were his usual way of coping—or dulling the pain, at least.

It was when those activities failed to comfort him that he resorted to a measure that he continuously cursed himself for favoring. He disliked the idea of depending on another person to ease his pain, for that was another person he could lose. Miles spent much time convincing himself that this correspondence meant nothing to him, for if he believed otherwise, he would surely find trouble with von Karma, who prized perfection and nothing else. Friendship was a folly, a distraction; it was unnecessary, especially for one trudging along the prosecutor's path. Miles wondered what sort of punishment he would receive if von Karma ever laid eyes on his letters. Franziska's constant teasing was already a pain, and it was a wonder she never betrayed his secret. Perhaps they had some sort of familial bond after all…particularly when she was the one who delivered the letters to him.

Miles laboriously climbed the stairs to his bedroom, his fingers aching to wield the pen he used exclusively for this correspondence. When he pulled open the wooden door, he found Franziska preening idly on his bed. She had an envelope clutched in her right hand, a horse whip in the other.

"Franziska…thank you," he exhaled. Miles's thoughts were abruptly disrupted, and he already felt winded, besides. He expected her to scoff at his vapid brevity, and so she did.

"Miles Edgeworth, you know not the extent of my labors! To expect me to continue as your personal postman in this wretched weather…I cannot allow it!"

Franziska brandished her whip competently, though it only slashed at the air, for Miles knew better than to stand within the range of her whipping frenzy.

Miles now looked at his proper little sister's coat, slightly soaked and ruffled. He did not expect a letter from him today; after all, he had not yet replied to the other.

Franziska had raised a few eyebrows when she first insisted on retrieving the mail, though because she insisted it was to incorporate time outdoors, which always cleared the mind for strenuous analysis and thought, von Karma thought nothing of it. Perhaps he simply attributed it to her self-importance, of which she had plenty.

It was when Franziska found Miles sniffling softly in his bedroom that she began this task. Miles had left it open in his excitement or confusion, perhaps. She saw his pathetic hands trembling as he held the treasured parchment. Franziska said nothing: only watched, even studied. She had inquired about it minimally, raising suspicion within Miles, though he was mostly grateful for her covert operation.

"I apologize, Franziska. I was not expecting a letter today."

"You foolish fool whose foolishness entertains none but other fools… I am beginning to tire of this game with no reward, Miles Edgeworth, particularly when I do not know the purpose."

Withholding a sigh, Miles contemplated his choice of words. It was impossible to lie to Franziska; she would see through his deceit and whip him silly. On the other hand, he didn't expect someone like Franziska to understand these matters. It seemed both a futile and painful effort altogether.

"I have been exchanging letters with an old…classmate of mine."

"Classmate? You mean to tell me that you have been wasting precious time on an American classmate?" Franziska looked about to break her whip in two.

"I am simply keeping myself updating as to the country's state of affairs, from an insider, no less," Miles coolly elaborated. God, he knew he was in for a whipping.

Franziska felt her blood boil, a welcome sensation amidst the bitter cold she had exposed herself to moments ago. To think that he would expect her to accept such a foolhardy lie! Did he think her stupid? She was Manfred von Karma's daughter, the heir to perfection! Franziska saw his wretched weakness, only reinforcing her superiority.

She edged closer to her adoptive little brother. "Miles Edgeworth…you cannot mean to tell me your silly tears were spilled for American current events?"

Unable to think clearly, as his thoughts rested solely on the envelope in his tormentor's hand, an unexpected joy, Miles sputtered, "I have no idea what you are referring to."

"You do not, indeed! Such frailty…it is unbecoming of a von Karma. How fitting that you have now proved yourself to be below the family name, as you never could have amounted to it!" Franziska grinned widely. It was the greatest act of discipline to remain a subservient accomplice to his sentimentality, yet it was now the greatest satisfaction to have revealed her weapon at last.

Miles was still and silent at first. Slowly, he began to grin just as widely as Franziska. He assumed the air and face of smugness he had been trained to assume. "I see now, Franziska."

"What?" Franziska's eyes widened, her weapon at her feet.

"Isn't jealousy also unbecoming of a von Karma? For one who is undeserving of the name, I must intimidate you sufficiently for you to resort to such childish tactics." Miles gestured widely, as though he had been in control of the situation from the beginning.

Franziska truly looked capable of ripping her whip in half. "Jealous? Of you? What foolishness! I am better than you in every single aspect…it is I who will continue Father's legacy."

"Only time will tell, of course. Yet to burst into a tantrum like a child, I am not certain that you will."

Franziska had ground her teeth until their shattering was imminent. She crumpled the letter ostentatiously in both hands and threw it at Miles's feet. Stomping out the door, making sure to dirty the floor as much as she could with her still muddy boots, Franziska slammed the door behind her.

Finally. Miles carefully dropped down on one knee and picked up the defiled letter. Walking over to his vanity, he smoothed it flat, and opened it precisely with a monogrammed letter opener.

Miles finally found the peace he had sought out for. Smiling at his friend's unkempt handwriting and sloppy sketches beaming up at him from the margins, he began to read.

"Dear Miles,

"It's been a while since I've had a letter from you…well, because you haven't replied to me, obviously…so I decided to write to you again!

"How are things going in Germany? I think you have that exam coming up, right? That's why I figured you didn't reply. Anyway, good luck! Although…you probably don't need it…but Miles, remember what we've talked about. I still have faith in you. I know you'll find your way again. You're the person I admire most, Miles, and I believe in you! You don't know how happy I was to see a letter from you all those years ago…there were times when I was feeling down and alone, and I just thought of your next letter. I hope that's not weird.

"Well, I guess things have been alright with me…my mom called me for the first time in a year! Isn't that wild? She kept getting after me for being a worthless art student, though… But hey, it's not worthless, right? Look at what I drew you! Well, I guess you had to see them… I tried drawing you, but yeah…it's guesswork. I wish you could see my paintings but I'm not too good with cameras, and they don't look so great in pictures anyway. So you should see me sometime! I'm sure ol' von Karma has plenty of cash to burn on useless junk! I'll take you all around Los Angeles on a nostalgia trip! …Well, I'll take you around but we probably won't actually go in anywhere. College student budget, you know? LA's still pretty cool, and it'd be nice to see it all with you.

"So…Miles, I hope you're alright. I know you still have those nightmares. I wish I could be there for you, I mean actually be there for you. I don't know if it'd help, but…to know you're having such a hard time, I can't stand it. Didn't you like it more here? Why'd you have to leave, Miles? Especially with that old fart! He's bad news, Miles, I don't care how good at his job he is.

"Remember to take deep breaths, okay? And drink plenty of water… See, this is why I'm an artist and not a psychologist, but you know, I'm still thinking of being a lawyer… How hilarious would it be if we crossed paths in the courtroom someday?

"Be well,

Phoenix Wright"

It was a small comfort. Miles brushed his thumb across the words, as though he could feel Phoenix through them. He stared at one of Phoenix's sketches which resembled him. It wasn't too far off the mark, though he couldn't help thinking how wrong it felt to see a smile on sketch Miles's face.


	2. Rain

"It's raining, Phoenix.

"I hope you have done well to keep afresh with your classes, as I know you are wont to neglect them. It wouldn't do for a potential law student to slack off, though at the rate you are proceeding, you may very well dash the thought from your mind. I am simply giving you due warning.

"You wanted to know what law school is like. What instructors fail to tell you about the courtroom is how very cold it is. My suit jacket was not nearly enough, though I suppose the cravat helped slightly (do not pester me on this topic—you know full well that it is to establish presence!)."

x

The garish attire of the male defense attorney opposite Miles began to do a very ill number on him. To have donned such a bright and ostentatious red—no suit jacket, either!—and to have failed to tame such wild hair…this man went against every rule of the courtroom within five seconds of his being here, or so Miles thought.

The woman, on the other hand, looked sicker than he felt. It was to be expected, after all: a rookie defense attorney with a violent convict on death row as her first client…such a situation seemed too cinematic to be reality, Miles was sure.

x

"Do you believe in the occult, practices such as spirit channeling? I'm sure you are somewhat acquainted with it, for how can one not, amidst the cinema of today? I met this woman in the courtroom today who bore a trinket of the Fey clan. It was astounding to see one with such an affiliation daring to step foot into an institution of justice. I wonder how on Earth she was allowed her attorney's badge, considering her history!

"I'm sure you must be familiar with the Feys. I am certain I will never forget them."

x

Terry Fawles. Such a man was truly, undeniably, guilty. All that Miles had to do was prove it—yet ultimately, he believed, the guilty always showed their true colors. He had learned this from a very early age.

Miles need only push the point further and further until he claimed victory.

"The defense is ready, Your Honor," a slightly shaken voice declared. His reverie broken, Miles opened his eyes to consider the defense, which seemed anything but ready.

Lifting his head higher as though to elevate himself above the paltry defense, Miles countered, "The prosecution has been ready for a while, Your Honor." Yes, a perfect delivery. Miles hoped von Karma took notice.

The judge widened his eyes in that owlish way of his—not particularly wise, however, or so Miles thought. "I understand the lawyers for both sides are newcomers?"

Miles suppressed a sneer—as though inexperience was indicative of incompetence.

Yet on the other hand… "Y-y-yes, Your Honor. I'm Mia Fey."

Miles clenched his fist instinctively. "Miles Edgeworth, Your Honor."

Widening his eyes to an even larger degree, the judge said, "So you're the new prosecutor everyone is talking about, eh?" He chuckled. "They say you joined the prosecutor's office at quite an early age."

"At 20, Your Honor." Why couldn't he get on with the trial already, instead of wasting time on such trivialities? Miles awaited his easy and quick victory which would instantly grant him only more credibility as a young prosecutor.

x

"Death is so…pervasive, don't you think, Phoenix? It never truly leaves its victims. Obviously, a dead man remains dead, but I am talking of the mourners. They see death all around them. Death becomes an intrinsic aspect of life, moreso than it is for the unaffected. I believe I have become the subject of death's taunting, particularly at present…

"Phoenix…I fear I am guilty of far more than you will ever accept. It is the only rational explanation…with evidence, nonetheless. The possibility racks my brain until there is nothing more that is sensible within it. There may come a time when we both must face it."

x

Miles felt his heart beat and beat as though it were aching to escape from the situation at hand. A cold swept over him, a change from the relative warmth of moments prior.

"If it ever happens…that we can't trust each other no more…Then…we're supposed to…drink…bottle…"

His courtroom debut did prove to be momentous…though not in the way he expected. Miles could hardly think. It felt as though the world before him had detached from his own existence, as though the events occurring were not truly happening, or if they were, they did not pertain to him, he who remained beyond and above it all. The screams for an ambulance, the confused and terrified noises of the courtroom gawkers, the defense attorney who had bested him out of her senses: they were all inconsequential.

As the courtroom filed out, with Mr. Fawles carried out on a stretcher, Dahlia Hawthorne swaying carefree out the doors, the audience murmuring amongst themselves as they walked out, and the judge shaking his head in disbelief, Miles was accosted with demand after demand, yet he responded to none. He stood still as though he were rooted to the spot, eyes glazed as though trained for nothing within the realm his body was occupying.

Then, a whimper. Miles felt himself regaining his senses. He tentatively looked up to see the defense attorney shaking and on the verge of tears. Of course she would cry—her first trial went horrendously, as well. Yet why cry over a man who may have been guilty, proven innocent merely by circumstantial evidence? How could a woman so cold as to defend criminals ever be capable of tears? How could a woman whose mother had destroyed his life beyond repair ever demand pity?

Crack. A spurt of blood. Remnants of coffee spilling over the bloody hand and onto the podium.

"You can't cry yet. The only time a lawyer can cry is when it's all over."

x

"Such terrible weather…it is unprecedented in such a state as California, by my standards, at least."


	3. Ink

"Dear Miles,

"I'm sorry how long it's been since I last wrote to you. I have big news…and I mean big news! It's so big that sometimes I can't believe it's real, and I can barely stand to feel, everything feels so intense!

"About 6 months ago, I was in the courtroom library—yes, I was being "dutiful," you nag! I was leafing through some files when fate met me: a beautiful red-haired girl came sprinting towards me as though she had destiny on her mind! She smiled so candidly, spoke so delicately, so shy that she couldn't speak above a whisper…and she had eyes for me and only me!

"Within moments of introducing ourselves, she took the necklace she was wearing off her slender neck and gave it to me as a memento of our encounter. I was sure I had made myself out to be the hugest loser on the planet, yet here she was, giving me a present when we hadn't even gone on our first date! That, my friend, was definitely fate as it should have befallen me!

"I only hope that something like this happens to you, too…I know you need someone close, especially after reading your last letter. Miles, why are you getting so cryptic? You're worrying me. Why don't you let me see you? You've been in Los Angeles for an entire year and I haven't caught the slightest glimpse of you…well, aside from the papers, but that hardly counts. I'm sure you and Dollie would get along well; she has that refined taste you brag about so much. Dollie's so elegant…she's even got me drinking tea! The hot kind! In Los Angeles! That'll tell you how crazy I am about her.

"Anyway, Miles, I'd really like to see you. I've written my phone number on this letter. Please call me soon. I think you need my help, more than ever.

"Your friend,

Phoenix Wright"

Miles repressed the all-encompassing urge to crumple the letter Phoenix had haphazardly sent him. Miles didn't think he had the gall to feign concern for him when it was evident he only had eyes for his…girlfriend. Puppy love had proven to Miles to be a disgusting and fleeting affection; he wouldn't stand to be within Phoenix's orbit if he insisted on speaking incessantly of his so-called meet with fate.

Staring at the number Phoenix had provided him, Miles frowned and vowed to himself to never call it. Perhaps it was a necessary measure to stop the correspondence as well. Miles knew Phoenix to be persistent, the most persistent man he'd ever know in his life, he was sure—he knew that Phoenix would only press harder, despite Miles's avoidance.

How hypocritical of him to act so concerned when he had failed to reply to Miles's urgent, and regrettably needy, letter…it was then that Miles knew not to rely on anyone with regard to his grief. The increasingly renowned young prosecutor already exacted his revenge case by case, throwing remorseless criminals in prison, using every bit of evidence he could lay his hands on in order to carry out the justice that the country so desperately needed in the face of growing criminal activity. There was no point in seeking counseling of any kind when the only comfort he required was that of the courtroom.

x

Dahlia Hawthorne—Miles wasn't prepared to hear of that woman again, especially not this soon.

Of course Phoenix would get himself caught in such a dangerous affair. Miles believed him to be too trustful; Phoenix still believed he could change Miles, after all. The resentment toward Phoenix began to grow and grow until he no longer cared as to the man's hurt feelings.

Yet he was nearly murdered by that same woman involved in that devastating case…there had been no hard evidence against her, yet she still ran a chill up his spine, even after all this time. There was something about that mockery of a smile and face, belying a darker soul; the courtroom was a place of evidence and testimony, on the other hand, and so he kept his suspicions to himself.

That dark soul had proven herself to be involved in a series of twisted murders. Only a fluke—such a string of coincidences could not remain coincidences now, yet he could not accept that he may very well have sent an innocent man to his execution had he not led himself to death. No, not innocent, not wholly innocent. No man in the world was innocent. They would face their sins sooner or later. Miles need not worry, for justice reigned no matter what.

Mia Fey was another name he would've cared never to hear again. If he could help avoiding another battle in the courtroom with her, he would do everything in his power. She did save him, however…no matter how cold Miles felt toward Phoenix, he would never wish the man's death, not after the nights he spent reading Phoenix's replies over and over after a hefty punishment from von Karma.

x

Miles took a deep breath, steadied his posture, and stood properly before the door of his mentor's study. It wouldn't do to show weakness in front of him, no matter his present feelings. Manfred von Karma cared nothing for feelings. They only blocked the way to victory, to perfection. A perfect being strove only for success, not interpersonal fulfillment. To be above everyone and everything…Miles had listened to these lectures time after time ever since he was adopted by this man.

Knocking on the tall door, framed with ornate designs and made of only the finest wood, Miles waited to be summoned. "Enter," said a gruff voice, evidently preoccupied.

Miles opened the door steadily, not too brusque and not too tentative, and faced his mentor head-on. Von Karma was hunched over his desk, somehow writing elegant cursive at a fast pace. The room was surrounded with books, all pertaining to law, case files, and the occasional award, for von Karma only believed in preserving the highest achievements. The tall windows behind him bathed the room and man in an otherworldly light. This was the attorney that Miles aspired to be—undefeated, ultra competent, with a heart of stone.

Von Karma looked up from his work and eyed his pupil meticulously. "Well? What is your business?"

Miles unconsciously straightened his posture, though it could not possibly be straighter. "Sir, I have come to inform you that I have been assigned to the SL-9 case."

Von Karma laughed in derision. "Is that it? Must I baby you throughout your law career?"

Pursing his lips, trying to clear his mind of everything but the professional matter at hand, Miles replied, "No, sir. I'm sure you are aware of the case. The suspect, Joe Darke, left no evidence at any of the previous crime scenes, yet he was certainly the culprit. Now…" Miles hoped von Karma took no notice of his hesitation. "The evidence I've seen concerns me…"

"What about the evidence concerns you, boy?"

Miles flinched. "The blade of Darke's knife…it doesn't match…the late Prosecutor Marshall's stab wound."

Von Karma laughed once more, with greater vigor. "Is that what concerns you? Do you have enough evidence to convict the man?"

"Yes, sir, though I have also requested the testimony of Detective Skye's younger sister, who was present at the crime scene from the beginning."

"Isn't that enough?" Von Karma lifted himself from the chair, clutching the desk forcefully. "You have all you need to convict the man! To mull over the legitimacy of this or that…does it matter? All you should be concerned about is a guilty verdict, and nothing more!"

He moved closer to Miles, instilling a familiar fear within him. "Is this how I've trained you? To worry over the inconsequential? Tarnish the von Karma name, and you'll see how charitable I've been to you the last decade!"

Miles knew this was a test. Turn away too quickly, refuse to meet his eyes, show even the slightest fear, and he would be chastised. Miles set his face in determination and said, "Yes, sir. Thank you your counsel."

As soon as Miles felt it prudent to leave, he marched out, von Karma to smiling wickedly at his exit.

x

"Phoenix,

"You could never save me, for I never needed a savior."

Miles tore this tenth sheet of parchment into pieces. Staring at his hands full of ink, he wondered if his soul was blackening just as his hands were.


	4. Reunion

"Phoenix Wright."

"Yep, Mr. Edgeworth, he's the defense for this case. A greenhorn, nothing more, nothing less." The detective rubbed the back of his head guiltily. "The victim was his mentor."

Miles focused his sight on the detective's musty green coat, losing himself in thought. Phoenix Wright…it had been two years since he last communicated with him. There were attempts on Phoenix's part, but Miles brushed them all away. Miles needed no one but himself—reliance on others proved to be an effort he could live without.

"Mr. Edgeworth? You okay?"

Twitching at the unexpected sound of the detective's gravelly voice, Miles quickly looked up at his face once more. "Yes, of course. Bring me the autopsy report as soon as possible, and make sure to perform an adequate investigation," he added pointedly.

Detective Gumshoe gave him an enthusiastic salute and left to fulfill Miles's request.

This particular detective was one of the few in which Miles divested his trust. That trust, however, was frequently misplaced. Miles knew he meant well, but at the expense of his case? He thought deductions in salary would force him to straighten his act, but Miles soon began to learn that carelessness was in his nature. Miles continued to deduct his salary, anyway.

Sitting at his desk, Miles looked round to inspect his office. Full of books, like his mentor's. Miles differentiated himself by having a figurine of the Steel Samurai, the star of Miles's favorite program. It was incongruous to imagine a man such as himself watching a program designed for the younger population…however, it brought him a sense of vitality which he rarely knew, nowadays. When inquired about the figurine, he simply said that his little sister gave it to him as a memento. Franziska would have loved that.

Miles redirected his attention to the case file on his desk. Mia Fey, once again—what a cruel trick. Then, to have his old friend as her pupil, her successor, the attorney to face him in court: it seemed an orchestrated plot to torment him as much as possible.

He flipped the page to the suspect data. Maya Fey, Mia's sister. Miles couldn't fathom how one could kill a family member. Accidentally, perhaps, but…

x

"Edgeworth!"

Miles shivered at the use of his surname, but continued to walk straight ahead without looking back.

Detective Gumshoe, who was at his side, frowned, ruffled his hair in his usual way, and turned his head. "What a guy, wantin' to rub his victory in your face! Don't he have any shame?"

Averting his eyes, Miles said, "No. No, he does not."

The piles of paperwork that Miles sensed were being deposited on his desk at that very moment were going to take the final toll on him that day—he knew this for sure. At the same time, he couldn't help walking at a leisurely pace, absentmindedly taking note of the traditional interior of the courthouse, as though he had never stepped foot in it. It was astounding how quickly time had passed; he was confident that he'd never lose his way in here, after all the years he'd been prosecuting. Miles chuckled. He didn't think himself to be this nostalgic.

Gumshoe attempted to start a conversation with his superior concerning matters aside from work, but ultimately failed. Miles didn't think he existed outside of his work.

Miles and Gumshoe were approaching the doors leading to the outside. Before they could advance any further, Phoenix Wright blocked their way. Miles frowned.

"Mr. Wright, we have work to do. If you could step out—"

"No, Edgeworth…Miles. I'm not letting you go again."

Miles sneered. "As if you could ever lose me…when you never had me in the first place." It was easy, so easy, to rebuke his friend. All those years of resentment were finally being exorcised. Miles had no room in his heart for Phoenix, not as a grown man. Perhaps the needy young boy Miles once was did, but people change, often of their own accord, he thought angrily.

When Phoenix's silence lingered, Miles pressed on. "Didn't you say that I needed your help more than ever? Well, what are you going to do? I'd very much like to know."

Phoenix stared. With new resolve, he grabbed Miles's shoulder, about to lead him into a secluded hallway, when Detective Gumshoe restrained him. "Whaddaya think you're doin', pal? I oughta arrest you for assault!"

It was obvious that Phoenix would not relent to any similar threats. Miles sighed in reisgnation. "It's alright, Detective. I can take care of him myself."

Gumshoe looked adamant. "But sir, you don't have to waste time on—"

"I said, I can take care of him myself."

Miles freed himself from Phoenix's grasp and walked briskly toward an empty hallway. Once he stopped, he turned to Phoenix. "Well? Are you going to answer me?"

"Miles, please. I know this isn't who you really are. Demon prosecutor? That isn't you, that never was supposed to be you! It's because of that damn von Karma, it's because of that whole incident—"

Phoenix felt a painful pressure on his wrist. He let go of his briefcase and all his case files dropped to the floor. Miles advanced upon him, stepping on the papers without a care.

"I'll have you know I've made every single one of my decisions on my own behalf. You dare to go on as if you know anything and everything about me, when you ignored my correspondence for years? I hope you derived a sort of satisfaction from it. I know I never did."

Phoenix's face fell, suddenly finding great interest in the scattered files at his feet. Miles glared, cursed him, hoped earnestly that Phoenix would finally relent and leave him be.

"Nick! What happened to my burger?"

Miles automatically turned to see Mia's sister running toward them. He wondered whether she was aware of the truth of her disgraced family, how it had ruined him, how it let a guilty man roam free, how it ensured that his nights would never be spent sleeping peacefully.

Maya stopped dead in her tracks once she saw Miles. She stared at him with wide eyes. Then, she furrowed her brows and set her mouth into a determined frown, and asked, "Why, Mr. Edgeworth? Why do you have to be such a jerk?"

Miles was more surprised than affronted. "Excuse me?"

Maya clenched her fists and confronted him. "First, my sister…and…and you tried to prove I killed her! Don't you have a brother or sister? Don't you have a heart?" Maya fought back tears, biting her lower lip. "And now here you are beating down on Nick! Leave us alone!"

She was about to slap him when Phoenix grabbed her wrist gently. "Maya, it's alright. I went up to him. I deserve what he told me." Phoenix gathered his files, and stood at Miles's level once again. "Let's get you that burger, alright?"

Miles watched as they walked away together. He heard Phoenix say, "You probably couldn't hit him anyway. You're too short, after all," and Maya launching into protest.

No heart. He wondered if everyone else thought the same. If a young girl like her could reach that conclusion, it was no stretch to assume that of those surrounding him. Was she right? Had he no heart?

Miles had gone to lengths to purge every obstacle along his way to becoming a revered prosecutor. If that meant tossing away his heart, then it was probably so. The heart was such a needless thing, after all; what use would a prosecutor have for a heart? Their very existence depended on objectivity and evidence, nothing so base as sentimentality. That was what he despised about defense attorneys such as Mia Fey and her pupil, who was proving himself to be just the same, as far as he could judge from one trial alone.

No, he had lost his heart with his father. There was no chance of recovery. Not a single soul in the universe could retrieve it. To live this thankless, brutal life—it was more than enough.


End file.
